


You Sure Are Looking Good

by miriad



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Biting, Come Eating, Deputy Stiles Stilinski, Hand Jobs, Laura's Alive (but not appearing in this story), M/M, Marking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-04 19:25:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1084813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miriad/pseuds/miriad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles also doesn’t like it when assholes treat other people around him poorly, which is how he ends up meeting Derek.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Sure Are Looking Good

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Birddi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Birddi/gifts).



> Trigger warning for mention/discussion of rape- no one is raped in this story, but two douche bags talk about taking advantage of someone and are called out on it as being rape, so warning given.
> 
> Despite my warning, this is not a heavy story. It’s an AU where Laura’s alive, both Derek and Stiles are older and haven’t met before this story. Derek is still a werewolf, although it doesn’t play a huge part in this story, which surprised me more than I thought it would. Huh.
> 
> This was written for Birddi over on Tumblr for the Teen Wolf Holiday exchange. I did a spin on this prompt: Stiles/Derek - Stiles sticks up for Derek (ala the confrontation between Chris and Stiles in season 1) and Derek is either there or overhears + words: Red Riding Hood.

Stiles gets that he isn’t exactly unattractive. People hit on him at bars, yeah, but when he opens his mouth, he’s pretty snarky and that seems to turn off the kind of guy that tends to hit on him. 

The guy that’s looking for cute and twinky, which to THEM means shy and demure, sweet and quiet- basically, without an opinion- that’s the guy that hits on Stiles. And that’s the guy that eventually leaves him, sitting alone in the bar, without anyone to go home with. 

Stiles calls shenanigans on the whole thing, frankly. Bullshit on all of it. Maybe he’s cute- that’s what Allison tells him, although he’d give his right arm for someone to use the word ‘handsome’ for once, or maybe ‘dashing’. 'Roguish' perhaps might be pushing it too far but he'd take it. He’s not so sure he’s ‘twinky’. He’s certainly not ‘demur’ or ‘quiet’.

Stiles, to bring it back to the subject at hand, has lots of opinions. He won’t let people walk all over him. He’s also very smart, so when these assholes hit on him, strike up a conversation, and then figure out there’s a brain behind those beautiful brown eyes, don’t get his jokes or find him too geeky, they don’t like it. 

To put it mildly.

One guy actually told him to “just shut up and suck me off already.”

That guy was tasting his own balls for a month, after Stiles rammed his knee in the guy’s junk, then punched him in the face.

Stiles also doesn’t like it when assholes treat other people around him poorly, which is how he ends up meeting Derek.

*

Derek doesn’t look like a target, which is why Derek finds the whole thing fucking ridiculous. But.

These guys, these two fucking guys who look like they were maybe wrestlers in high school and started steroids in college, a tag team pair for sure, start cruising the bar. They’re labeling everyone with a point value and the degree of difficulty they’d be to nail, bang, whatever, male or female. Equal opportunity douche bags, apparently.

Derek’s got a beer, hanging out against the bar by himself, waiting for Laura to meet him, late as usual. If she was on time, he’d drop dead, so he’s kind of glad she’s late, he guesses.

He’s annoyed but the beer is super cold and it at least tastes good, even though it won’t do shit for him. He can at least appreciate the fact that she can pick a bar with a good selection of what’s on tap. 

He’s licking some foam off his lip when he hears the douche bags mention “little red riding hood”, so he looks over his shoulder to see a guy in a red hoodie hunched over his own beer at the bar, looking like he just sucked on a lemon.

Which, judging by the shot glass and salt shaker sitting in front of him, he probably just did. He’s currently mouthing at a bottle of beer, though, a chaser to his shot. And what a mouth he’s got. No wonder those assholes are drawn to it, it’s pretty fantastic.

The guy’s got a young face, chiseled with sharp cheek bones and a jaw line Derek would love to run his face up against, the wolf inside of him suddenly sitting up to take notice. The guy’s hair is cut short, an almost military precision to it but not quite, trimmed neat at the nape, making his long neck stand out even more. 

The hoodie’s covering up most of a uniform button down (Derek can still see a bit of the tan collar peeking out), for what profession Derek’s not sure, but the cotton/poly blend pants and the hint of sweat and deodorant that he can smell even down this far tells him that it’s the end of a shift for the guy, and the job is more than a little physical. Little Red is more than those two jokers want to deal with and they don’t even know it.

Derek takes a swig of his beer and smiles into his glass. If this gets nasty, it’s going to be fun. And he has a front row seat.

"The big bad wolf down there at the end, we’d have to tie him up and force him to take it, but I bet he’d like it." It takes a second for Derek to realize they’re talking about him. The fuck? Big bad wolf? He knows where they got Little Red Riding Hood because, hello, red hoodie, but wolf? Seriously? He knows he’s hirsute but that shit is ridiculous.

The guy talking reeks of hair gel, the cheap stuff that’s always sticky, no matter how long it’s been since you used it. He ironed his shirt but scorched it, the setting up too high, so it smells of cheap fabric softener and burnt polyester. The whole package is just disgusting. People watching with enhanced senses is sometimes less fun and more disgusting than others. 

Derek drops his glass a little harder than he should to the bar top, annoyed that he’s somehow been roped into all of this. He glares down at the douche bag twins who, despite talking serious shit about him, aren’t even paying him any attention.

"Man, we’d make him like it." The second douche bag is kind of rubbing himself up against the first, almost like he’d rather be doing his friend than anyone else in the bar, and really, is Derek surprised? At this point, nothing should surprise him anymore, and then something else does.

"That’s it. I’ve had it.” Little Red in the hoodie slams his beer bottle down and flies off his stool like he’s been tagged with a cattle prod, and now Derek’s a bit more invested in this whole side show. He takes a sip of his beer and turns slowly towards the action but tries not to make it LOOK like he’s turning towards the action.

"Excuse me?" Douche Bag One presses a hand to his bulky chest and Derek wonders briefly if the guy’s going to leave a streak of self tanner behind on his shirt. "What’s your problem?"

"My problem? My problem, asshole, is that you’ve spent the last thirty minutes cataloging the contents of this bar like a meat locker, including me, and I’ve sat here, listening, getting sick to my stomach, and said nothing, because, hey, none of my business, but the second you start talking about raping someone, man, that is my business.” 

Derek feels one eyebrow arch up, because, whoa, that’s some serious shit right there. Little Red isn’t all that little, he notices, checking out just how tall and lithe the guy is, how he moves like he’s got muscle under those baggy clothes, and all the wolf in Derek wants to do is strip the guy naked and find out just how he’s put together. 

Derek is not opposed to this plan.

"First of all, rape? What? And second, how would that be your business?" The Douche Bag Two steps in, trying to lean in, to intimidate but the problem with that plan is that neither of them happen to be taller than Little Red, and despite being broader across in the shoulders, they can’t seem to loom over him in any meaningful way.

"Rape is everyone’s business, as a social contract to protect each other from harm, by the by, and threatening to hold someone down and fuck them without their consent would be rape, just FYI. And it’s my business because I’m a goddamn Sheriff’s Deputy, motherfucker.” Little Red pulls out a badge from under his hoodie, where it must have been clipped to his belt, and flashes it in their faces, which makes them blanch a little bit, and they take a step back. "Yeah, you like that? I’ve got a badge, and a gun to go with it.” Little Red lifts his sweat shirt up to reveal that the shirt is a Sheriff’s uniform, and yup, there’s the belt, complete with gun, holster, cuffs, the works. If Derek sniffs he can smell the gun oil. Perhaps that’s just wishful thinking. "Technically I’m off duty but even off duty I can arrest a couple of lawbreaking assholes like you. They’d give me a medal. Give me your keys, take a cab, go the fuck home.”

For a minute it looks like they want to argue. Maybe it’s just a second. But then they bolt. Derek doesn’t know if they’re actually going to go home, as opposed to say, another bar down the street, but they aren’t going to stay there. Little Red sags, like a helium balloon that’s been sitting in a hot car for a few days, and sits back down on his stool. He looks tired and defeated. 

That’s no way for Prince Charming to look after he’s slayed the dragon, and Little Red is clearly the hero of this particular story. He deserves some kind of reward. Derek knows just the thing. He licks his lips and looks down at his drink.

Derek flags down the bartender.

"Can you get me another, and whatever the guy in red is having? Thanks.” He waits for both beers, then heads over to Little Red, and sets the beer down next to the guy’s elbow. "Hey, thanks for standing up to those guys for me."

Little Red’s head pops up off his hands, eyes wide. He looks around, a bit shocked to see anyone standing next to him. He reeks of alcohol, which is a bit disconcerting seeing as he is carrying a weapon on him. He’s perhaps had a few more drinks than Derek first thought.

"You heard that?"

"Yeah. I’m glad, too. Not too often a guy like me has someone defending his honor like that. I appreciate it.”

"Not too many guys would."

Derek takes a sip of his beer, licks his lip. The guy is younger than Derek originally thought, much younger than Derek, but not a kid. Clearly old enough to be a Sheriff’s Deputy, which means old enough to pursue. He’s brave, which is clearly a turn on if the current party in Derek’s pants is anything to go on.

"It’s kind of my job." It’s pretty dim in the bar so Derek feels more than sees Little Red blush. He can hear his heart beat faster this close up. It’s adorable. He wants to make the guy’s heart beat faster when Derek’s balls deep inside of him. Derek has to adjust himself in his pants after a thought like that.

"About that, I was wondering-" Derek leans forward, his lips close to Little Red’s. Little Red leans in, the scent of tequila and beer wafting over with him. "Should you be packing heat when you’re drinking?"

"Little pro-tip? Never bring your gun in loaded to a place like this but make people THINK you did. Tools of the trade.” He makes this weird face waggle, which Derek assumes is supposed to mean something funny, so he grins back. Little Red has a smattering of moles that on someone else would seem a bit much but on this guy, seem just right. Wrong fairy tale, Derek thinks, and grins a bit wider, leaning in.

"Huh, so that’s not a gun in your pocket? You’re just happy to see me?” Little Red just looks at him for a second then bursts out in to laughter to full and hard that he falls off his bar stool and on to the floor. Derek just keeps drinking his beer. "You okay down there?," he asks mildly, something warm curling low in his gut, cock still hard in his pants. "You might pull something if you aren’t careful."

"Oh, I’ll pull something, alright." Little Red says, wheezing as he stands up, a few stray tears of laughter leaking from his eyes. Derek wasn’t wrong before- the guy’s just as hard as Derek is. The scent of pre-come and want are hard to miss. "You wanna get out of here?"

Derek drains his beer and locks eyes with Little Red, who looks a little older now that he’s closer, but not by much. They’re about the same height, although Little Red’s got about an inch on him. Laura’s still not there. She’s just gonna have to fly the evening solo, he guesses. Derek holds out his hand for Little Red to shake.

"Your place or mine?"

*

Stiles isn’t a virgin. He’s had a few tumbles in the sack with the ladies, and more than a few dudes. But he’s never really dated, so he’s never really gotten all that comfortable in a relationship, and so the sex has never really been that great.

Until Derek. 

The guy’s name is Derek. 

Because Stiles asked. Of course he did. He’s a member of the law enforcement community. He’d prefer to, you know, not become a statistic and to not break any laws. Dude has a lot of scruff but he could look deceptively older than he really is. 

They’d exchanged names over the roof of Derek’s fancy Camaro, which Stiles hopes isn’t compensating for anything, and headed for Derek’s place because Stiles? Not the best housekeeper on the planet and not expecting to bring anyone home that evening.

Translation? Disgusting sheets, terrifying shower, and a pile of clothes that might be able to walk themselves to the washing machine. Derek, though, he looks like a guy that doesn’t let things get that far out of control. He looks like a guy that’s all about control. He looks like the kind of guy who wants to control Stiles.

Who wants to let Derek have control. Oh, boy, does he ever. Yowza.

Derek’s got game. He’s got moves. He’s got these hands that are, first of all, bigger than Stiles’ own, and he’s strong. Derek’s got confidence, too, enough that he can lift and pull Stiles, up against the wall.

He’s got hands like a safe-cracker, his fingers in Stiles boxer shorts before Stiles even knows his belt’s been undone. He left the Sheriff paraphernalia locked securely in the car, so all he’s left with is his uniform. Not sexy, per se, but some people have a kink. It’s not a turn OFF, it seems.

Stiles makes a sound that in his dreams comes out all manly and attractive but must have actually sounded like a squeak because Derek’s looking at him with this smug grin, like the cat that ate the canary. Stiles likes it. Would like it better if it wasn’t because he sounded like some preteen idiot who’s never done this before.

He opens his mouth to say something about it but then Derek’s mouth is on his, Derek’s tongue twisty with his in this wild tango that with anyone else would be a wet, gross mess but with Derek is a hot dance of forbidden- stop it Stiles, you’re embarrassing yourself.

The fact that Derek can kiss like that without having to hold on to Stiles face with his hands places him in the top tier of people Stiles has made out with, and he’s grateful because it means that Derek can have both of his hands down Stiles pants.

Which he does.

One hand working Stiles shaft, the other hand cupping Stiles’ balls. 

That there is that much room in his pants, Stiles hadn’t realized but now that he knows, he’s on board.

Pressure just on the wrong side of gentle to be amazing, the squeeze-roll of his balls that he loves (and how the fuck did Derek KNOW?), not touching the tip because no lube and Stiles is cut, no convenient foreskin to help out, sadly, but Derek’s working with what’s he’s got and boy, does Derek know how to work it.

He’s moved from Stiles mouth down his jaw line to his neck, to where it meets his shoulder, and bites down gently, which is sure to leave a mark. Stiles doesn’t care. Hell, he’d prefer if someone else could see some kind of proof that he got laid.

And then the combination of the sharp teeth digging in to skin and nerve, and the hands on his cock and balls all start to add up, and he’s close to coming, the pressure building throughout his body, all the way down to the tips of his toes, the intensity pressing against his spine, black starting to edge his vision.

"Derek, man, I’m gonna-" Stiles is gasping now, the effort it takes to bring a breath in beginning to be a bit much, his chest heaving.

"That’s okay." Derek’s lips move against the damp skin of Stiles shoulder, tender beneath his teeth. Stiles thinks he’s got actual beard burn there now, he’s not sure he’s ever had actual beard burn anywhere on his body before.

"No, seriously-"

"We have all night." And then Derek bites down HARD on Stiles neck, not breaking the skin but hitting the nerves just SO, and twisting with each hand to ratchet up the pressure everywhere, just enough that Stiles couldn’t have held back on his orgasm if you’d put a gun to his head or offered him all the world’s gold.

"Fuck me," he breathes out, slipping down against the wall slightly, legs unable to support his weight any longer. Derek catches him before he can fall much further, though, holding him up with his own body, pressing his naked chest against Stiles’. 

Derek’s nose almost touches his, faces so close their eyelashes practically brush as they blink, so Stiles doesn’t miss it as Derek pulls his hands out of Stiles pants, licking his fingers, one at a time, sucking Stiles come off each one, eyes never leaving Stiles, smiling as he does it.

"Give me a minute to find the lube and sure, you got it."

"Oh my god, you’re going to kill me." Stiles whispers, gaze flitting from Derek’s mouth to his fingers to his green eyes and back again. Stiles will eventually catch his breath. Sooner or later. He thinks. He’s not sure he was exaggerating before- death by sex just might be what does him in.

"Isn’t that what the big bad wolf is supposed to do?" Derek asks before he leans in, and Stiles can taste himself on them.

Stiles isn’t entirely sure, but he’s willing to find out.


End file.
